Sunday, April 26, 2015

Fear of the Dark – Chapter 1.6 - Something Wicked

Timmy looked away from the book in a bit of shock. The darker God isn’t quite the romanticized figurine on a pedestal that Timmy had placed him upon. What could he have expected after all? He was pretty sure that the creature he had been following was a vampire and all, but his jaded view of what vampires do, was almost startling even to himself as he strayed away from the book. The reverend took the book back from him and started reading aloud, “I couldn’t even stand to look at the little monster as he dripped blood from his chin, and the sight of the young woman lying on the ground in a crumpled mass with a U shaped bite across the side of her throat was more disturbing. My actual hunger for blood disintegrated as I saw that body, and it flew in the face of what I would have expected reading the trashy vampire books as a kid. One would have assumed that seeing blood carnage would simply make me hunger all the more, and instead my stomach lurched,” the reverend stopped and looked at Timmy to say from his own mind, “It just keeps getting stranger and stranger,” Timmy was absently chewing his fingernails while nodding at the Reverend.

“I was fixated upon that poor woman, probing her with my eyes as the pain in my stomach started coming in full. It was the first actual feeling of pain that I had felt in this form, and I started reaching one of my huge hands down towards her when I felt the second large agony seer through my chest en route from my back, and my shocked eyes looked down to see a shard of wood protruding from the center of my chest, as it had been speared through me from behind. I’m pretty sure that at the time I let out an earth shattering roar as I turned around to my ‘child’ who had just rammed a large splinter of a broken shipping pallet clean through me,” the reverend stopped a bit stunned from his reading. Shaking his head a bit he continued, “The look on the child’s face was completely nonplussed, and he simply stared at me as I fumbled around behind myself to try to rip the shard out from between my shoulder blades. He spoke in a bored voice when he said; ‘Well it appears that a stake through the heart won’t kill us after all’ and he turned his back on me and started walking casually away. My outrage was apparent, but I was more concerned about getting the shard out of me, than finding out exactly how to kill one of us on him. As he walked further away I had finally dropped to my knees in agony, and proceeded to push the stake from the front to try to force it out far enough that I could reach it from behind. In the end it worked, but I had to stick my finger deep into my chest to push it far enough back.”

Timmy added at this point, “Well we really are just getting a tour through human ignorance of vampires aren’t we?” which had the reverend nodding as he skimmed a bit ahead. “Sunlight, crosses, and stakes don’t do it, so the good Lord only knows what is going to do it, but I have a feeling our friend in there figures it out,” he chuckled, “unless the boy becomes the Robin of the death knight.”

The reverend looked at his watch which was telling him that it was about four pm. “I hate to cut our little reading session short, but I really have to get home or my wife will send out the hounds. It’s the wonderful advantage of marriage my friend, someone to worry about you and enjoy making you a hot dinner,” he trailed off in a chuckle, “At least that’s what I tell myself. I’ll probably get a bowl of soup and some bread, but she means well,” and he smiled as he placed his glasses case inside the book as a book mark. “You need to get ready for your youth group tonight, so I will expect you to wait for me tomorrow before you start tearing into that book again.”

Timmy nodded, and then said, “I don’t think I want to read that book alone to be honest with you,” and the reverend nodded his agreement. “I also need to get my head out of the hellfire and brimstone before I scare the crap out of all the teenagers that come here to learn how to play poker,” and that had the reverend look at him in shock so Timmy added rather quickly, “You have to speak to people in their own language if you want them to understand you, and the kids really open up over a good game of cards.”

“You’re a real gem. Did you know that?” the reverend said to Timmy as he was putting on his large black trench coat.

“That’s what you tell me every time you call in sick for services,” Timmy threw back at him as he started fumbling papers out of his bottom drawer. “Get a good night’s sleep and I will see you in the morning, perhaps even on time. You never know.”

Darkness fell once again on the bustling streets of Manhattan. Chinatown is every bit as noisy during the evening as it is during the day. The streets are almost as bright as well, as the neon that fills every window, and hangs over every doorway radiates throughout the night. The criminal element around here works throughout the night as well, but it is part of the charm of Chinatown. The best gambling, the best drugs, and just about every other thing that can’t be sold or done legally is easily accessible here if you know where to go. Like just about every Chinatown in America this one is strategically located between two of the more bustling communities in the city. The lower East side brings in all kinds of night life, and a short walk into Chinatown fuels it. From the other direction Little Italy carries a bit more of the underground activity that the language barriers and cheap labor facilitates perfectly. The police, for the most part ignore it all, but a good number of the gentlemen in blue love a good prostitute or a few puffs now and again anyway.

The foulest of the criminal element of course loves to dabble in the human slavery and imprisonment aspect of the world. The more notable whore houses in Chinatown probably have never had a whore over the age of eighteen in them, and many can have them as young as twelve. Many of them simply disappear when they have gotten too old to be useful, and they never really got into the business willingly anyway. It would be nice to say that the police probably frequent places like this a lot less often than the other ones, but again the honor amongst thieves prevents them from doing anything about it. You can always hope for times to change, but where there is a market there is a need, and there is always someone low enough on the food chain to be imported into it. Life goes on in Chinatown.

Chinatown has seen more action from God than any other place in Manhattan. Mexican Harlem is a close second, and in both locations the local “scum” had taken note of the trends a lot quicker than the police have. The largest “slave trader” to ever walk the streets of Chinatown had been found torn to shred nearly nine years ago, and four successors had been found in similar fashion. It takes time for these pieces of filth to establish themselves, and perhaps it had taken a bit longer each time for someone to actually get brazen enough to try the skills of that trade again. Those that keep tabs on these things didn’t even know the last two kingpins in the slave trade until they were found in one of the fabulous disasters that God leaves behind. Of course the Village Voice started talking about God roaming the streets as frequently as it had been talking about “Saving the Fillmore East” which is really saying something. There had even been talk of a “wraith from the pit of Ground Zero” roaming the streets at one point, but the nine eleven revisionists started coming along with their stupid “blame Bush for the murders” crap immediately afterwards, and that ended all of that. New York likes its lunacy local after all.

Dim Ju Fong is the new guy in the area, who of course has been around, just not in such prominence as he is today. One of those Chinese criminals touched by the last White House administrations blessings, he had managed to have all of the smuggled cigarette sales in the city covered, by the time the new Mayor had practically made it a hate crime to smoke. It was a boon to him as illegal cigarettes became a more lucrative business than heroine thanks to the eight or nine dollars a pack that you paid in the stores. His ample supply of Chinese cigarettes that came in on shipping containers by the hundreds every month and sold for a mere three dollars a pack, if you knew where to find them, was not only a boon for profits, but also a very easy way to smuggle in a couple of containers of Chinese school girls every month as well. He had cornered the prostitution market so fast that his name had been relatively unknown and it was hard to trace him as well, since the Chinese government will turn their nose to such trafficking for such a connected patriot. The advantages of this were that he rarely needed to keep any of them for more than six months or so, and it made it infinitely hard to track, assuming that the heavy chains that held them to the bottom of the Hudson river held true.

His sick mind went a bit beyond this, as he liked to break the girls in and break the girls out. The last thing any of these poor sex slaves that he was selling to the general population for as little as twenty dollars a half hour saw was his brutal rape and beating, followed by a heavy chain, a short drive, and a long boat ride. Most of the girls never made it to sixteen years old either. His hateful display of distaste for women probably came from the normal areas, as even by Chinese standards his mother was a filthy whore. Neither him nor his brothers knew who their father were, and their two sisters had paid the price for it, being their first victims of the hate, malice and death, before Dim was even sixteen himself. Nobody could ever prove it. Over there, nobody really cared, because the girls should have been aborted anyway, and when his older brother reached the age necessary to take care of the family he killed their worthless mother. Dim killed his older brother, when he was old enough to take over his brother’s business, selling the local girls, and went to America once he had proven his worth to the Chinese government as a Capitalist. Later on as a political contributor he became what the Chinese would call a patriot, and the police of New York would call a pest.

Dim is no dummy, by any means. He realized before even assuming his position that there appeared to be a rather short life span for prostitution bosses in Chinatown. For that reason alone he had made sure that he had a security detail that followed him absolutely everywhere. He can read the newspapers, and he often does. He had found great humor in the way the New York Times would explain away all of his little “misunderstandings” with local law enforcement, and then how they would wholeheartedly start proclaiming him a Robin Hood amongst men in New York. “They would have crowned me the fucking emperor of New York years ago if there weren’t more rotten assholes around,” he often mused to his closest confidants. The New York Times always roots for the bad guys, and Dim after all is a horrible human being. “The New York Times will go further than Oprah to make someone like me seem misunderstood, and that’s why I keep my subscription,” was another one of his favorites. During the rare occasion that you would see him on the actual streets however he would be seen between several large men carrying pistols that Bloomberg lets only people like them have. “That Mayor, is another fan of people like me. I voted for him nine times and I’m not even a citizen!” This course of action served several purposes though since he had some muscle surrounding him, and also because God had NEVER attacked anyone when there were witnesses. Well until last night, but Dim had assumed after reading about it, that it was simply an exception to the rule.

Tonight was going to be a great night for Dim, and all of his henchmen. He had just gotten two containers in. One full of cigarettes and one full of girls, all between the age of eleven and thirteen, which demands a pretty high price for the first couple of months before they get broken in a little too much. Of course the “great night” comes in the form of picking out about a half dozen girls that don’t serve any purpose anymore. He had started letting his henchmen rape the girls with him because he delighted in the way it made them cry, and beg. All the girls knew what it meant when you were dragged away to “that room” and all of the guys filled in behind them, but there wasn’t anything that they could do about it. Most of the girls would be in hysterics before they even made it past that doorway, and Dim loved the ones that put up a fight along the way. His psychotic nature really came into effect as he beat the girls nearly senseless just to get them into their final room. There was a ritual involved actually. The room was set at the end of a long hallway in the whore house, which gave high drama as all the girls could see the death march to it. The private washroom was the door before it, so that Dim and the boys could wash up afterwards, and usually as a creature of habit so that Dim could relieve himself before. All the windows on these two rooms were bricked in because Dim hated the thought of the girls throwing themselves from a window before he had his fun. It happened once, and that was the end of that.

As always the chosen girls immediately started screaming as Dim’s henchmen grabbed them out of the rooms that they had spent the last six or seven months of their lives being violently raped by anyone with the money to do so to them. Many had to be beaten violently along the way as they fought for the last moments of a life about to end. One of the girls in particular had to have both of her arms broken as she was putting up quite a struggle along the way, and the henchman in charge of her was sick of prying her fingers off of the various doorways. That solved that problem and the shrieking that came to Dim’s ears from down the hallway was like Bach, or Mozart to him. The girls still capable of standing or moving their arms were pounding on the locked door in the “last room” as the brood went walking into the private bathroom, so that Dim could follow into his ritual.

The largest of the several men did his customary “sweep” of the room, checking the two stalls, and the four showers, and had classified the room as “safe” so that the rest of the hoard could walk in. Dim gave him the usual broad grin, as he was in his “happy place” and about to enter the best part of his “happy place” after a quick visit to the john. The henchmen lingered around the washroom, and listened to the muffled crying and screaming coming from the next room with feelings of great satisfaction. Dim was actually whistling his usual Chinese drinking song as he put the seat to the toilet down, and a couple of his henchmen joined in with him, as they often do. The huge guard stood by the door as he always does, just in case. Insanity and paranoia usually go hand in hand with tyrants, regardless of size and station in life. This is still the happy time for the monsters of this world. All of them actually, as the explosion of crumbling bricks filled the room, followed by a high pitched scream that couldn’t have even left the mouths of the victims in the next room. The potential victims in the next room that is, as the screaming victim was in this room. More to the point, he was in the stall with the bricked up window. The bricked up window that obviously isn’t there anymore  … To Be Continued

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