Free Abuse of Chikara (book 1) by Stanley Cowens

pupils. Psycho, I'm sick of that bitch screaming, please shoot her.” Red loved this factory; it really muffled gunfire very well, and if you waited for a train to go by no one would hear a thing. Incredible how well CTA trains muffled out weaker noises like gun shots. “Okay, go outside and get that serial killer we got locked up in the trunk and bring him here.” They had caught and arrested a local serial killer that had a habit of shooting prostitutes in the head after raping them, and then dumping their bodies in the local river. He'd confessed to the location of the body after Red had worked him over a few days. “Okay, we’re going to blame Alfonso's death on this serial killer. We saw some guy walking around the factory and went in to investigate. We split up and heard shots, only to find Alfonso dead, and we shot this guy. Take these bodies and dump them with the other ones in the river. We'll blame their deaths on the serial killer also. Nobody knows where the bodies are, so time of death won't be a problem. Seems like a shame that we didn't get to fuck them first Red. Okay, Psycho, you've been a good boy today. You can fuck their dead bodies before you dump them in the river with the rest. Take the other car we got parked on the other side of the factory. The one with the GPS disabled.”
    Psycho loads up the bodies and heads off to dump them in the local river. Red knew Psycho would in fact have sex with the bodies before dumping them. It's not like this would be the first time. Well, this job was almost done all he had to do was radio it in and do the paperwork, drugs, money or ass would easily erase any questions asked about what really went on here. Tomorrow he'd start working on that other problem for Bill.
    Nick the producer is laying in his cell thinking about his current situation. Prison life hadn’t really been all that bad to be honest. Many of the Hispanic and African American thugs knew about him and his underground films now. His connections to the Mexican Mafia meant that he had some level of protection here. Prison had certain rules one had to follow and observe to survive. One you really needed to have was some connections with a group to survive in here. Unless you were Steven Seagal, Bruce Lee or Rambo, you weren’t going to make it too long in here by yourself. Those who didn’t have any back up were fresh meat and would soon become somebody’s bitch. The second rule was to never appear weak or allow anyone to intimidate you. New prisoners always got tested. Nick was no exception to the rule. He’d knocked out some pumped up white boy the first day in the joint and given that fool a concussion. He wasn’t going to give JetLi or Bruce Lee a run for their money, but he did work out and was a pretty good boxer. He actually had enough skill to fight pro if he had wanted to. Rule three, don’t fuck with the prison guards if you could avoid it. Going too far could lead to a beat down Rodney King style. They could also lead to them setting you up with a cell mate who was a well-known rapist or being left some place alone with known enemies or a trip to solitary confinement. If you really gave them a problem there were nastier situations they could dream up. He hadn’t found prison life to be as mentally or physically debilitating as some found it to be. Nick was a strong-minded person and maybe, just maybe, he was well-suited for this environment. They let him have paper and a pen, so he could still write his screenplays in here. He’d actually improved his writing skill in his opinion. The only thing he had to do in here was workout, write and read. He’d actually improved his knowledge on a number of subjects by reading the books in the prison library. The funny thing is an American prison actually had a better quality of living than some Third World nations. Hell, he’d rather be in prison in an American prison than living in the slums of Brazil any day. The only real drawback had