WMD Ch. 01

Instead, we settled for stomping the fuck out of the seven we had. Keeping them on their feet was the key. Kicking a man when he's down looks suspect. Shaquille joined in the 'fun'. Our victims pleaded, cursed, threatened and cried like little babies yet we still beat them raw and bloody.

Their superior numbers and initiating the conflict pretty much allowed us to do anything we wanted to them, short of murder. Was this a White racist beat-down? You could look at it that way except for the first minute of the video showed eight Black kids surrounding and shoving around another Black kid.

Once we vacated the trashing, I leveled with Shaquille about our actions - we had known what was coming his way, used him to give us an excuse to kick ass ... and he was pissed with us. After a few minutes, he shook his head, snorted and agreed while we were total bastards, there had been no other way for that encounter to play out that left the four of us in a better position.

Those seven guys would be in no shape to bother him or Kaja for a week, or two, and the message of the pummeling those seven went through would reverberate throughout the school.

I touched base with Big Bob, who was attending the game, so that Darius and Brandy could see me being a 'good boy' thus foolishly playing my part in their deceptive scheme. That was living proof the worst deceptions was self-deceptions. Come on now, my brothers and I had beat up seven of Darius' flunkies and now they thought I was cowed enough to be led like a calf to the slaughter?

(Football Follies)

There was only one unexpected event on that nightmare first date. The score of 42-3 made sense. Darius was an epic running-back with all the natural talent and ambition to make the NFL. The rest of the team was pretty good as well and more than enough to manhandle the mixed race team opposing them.

The coach running up the score was par for the course as far as unsportsmanlike conduct went. By now, nil human compassion was what we expected from that crowd. They behaved like brutal thugs. The other team was suitably battered, broken and sullen. Every underhanded blow, discourtesy and disrespect our team exhibited reinforced my sense of my brothers' righteousness.

A tractor-trailer sized 'Humble Pie' was coming down the pipeline for those assholes and it was so well deserved. 'Our' team even had the gall to molest the other team's cheerleaders before they could exit the arena. A few dust-ups occurred when fathers and boyfriends of the attacked ladies tried to save their womenfolk. Their coach appealed to our coach.

Coach's look said it all; 'to the victors go the spoils'. Big Bob's deputies moved in. It took all of five seconds to see whose side the Black deputies were on. They gleefully aided the monsters struggling with the White men whose sole crime was wanting to get their women out with their virtues intact. All of these shenanigans were anticipated by Mom and us.

Three members of the defense managed to steal one terrified White cheerleader away from her side of the field. The boyfriend who tried to get to her was held back by a Black deputy. They would have been home-free except for one thing - my Dad's height and instincts. He spotted the trouble and headed those three off. First they blustered. Dad was unfazed.

Next they decided two would block Dad while the third dragged the girl away. They didn't know Dad. The second they put hands on him, out came his collapsible baton. He swung it up and into one antagonists' elbow. Trust me - that hurts. Of greater importance - no one saw it coming. Dad got in a blow to the other guy before he knew why the first guy was cursing in pain.

Then Dad fell on the third football player. My favorite lawman was finished talking. He shoved a thumb into the bastard's left eye - trust me; that hurts too. I can also assure you it is horribly distracting. Dad corralled the panicked girl and brought her back to her boyfriend - and the deputy who was arresting him. The White boy was freaking out and the Black officer was gloating.

I had never been the recipient of what came next, but I'd heard Dad's family talk about it and witnessed it a few times from a distance - like tonight. Dad, as Senior Deputy, asked the 'plain' Deputy to release the boy. The Deputy said something disrespectful to Dad. My Father grabbed the man's right wrist faster than a rattlesnake. I could almost feel those wrist bones grinding painfully together.

Dad, like all the men in our family, was big and bulky - not fat. We packed muscle mass upon muscle mass and I knew that Black man wasn't getting his wrist back until Dad decided to release him. Dad leaned in and whispered a few things to the Deputy. The Black man spat back then nearly crumpled over in pain as my Father ratcheted up the pressure, until the crying man acquiesced.

The girl and her boyfriend beat their feet out of there. Dad escorted the rebellious Deputy to a quiet corner to have a chat. That shithead immediately went for the racist angle - White cop picking on rambunctious Black youths. Dad replied that if he ever saw anything like what he saw that night again, he wasn't going to report the deputy, he was going to arrest him on the spot for facilitating an attempted sexual assault.

The Deputy made one more stab at the racist smear, proving he had never bother to get to know my Father. Dad's comeback was simple. If the deputy called him a racist one more time, he would bring the Black officer up on State and Federal Hate Crime statutes - creating a racial charged work environment.

The Fed would be a 'swing and a miss'. It was the 'Blacks can't be racist' bullshit. The State of Arkansas on the other hand...Dad, Big Bob and the White Deputies would gladly grease the wheels of justice. Nik Samsonov had a flawless 23 year record in law enforcement. All of that was of no surprise.

Dad had never come out and said there was a racial divide in the Sheriff's office, but it was clear to us that to a man, the Black Deputies kept the Black power structure in town abreast of all the goings on at the county law enforcement level. Until our arrival, the Black elite had their eyes set on litigating themselves into the office of Sheriff.

A man of Dad's background and caliber sort of curtailed those hopes and dreams. This was another reason for them to support Darius and his efforts were to make Dad look bad and even shame him into leaving. Fat chance of that happening. No, none of that was surprising to me. What caught me somewhat off-guard was...

"Why do you hate me?" Brandy asked me out of the blue. We were driving to the lake party site when she finally opened up.

"You've never given me a reason to do anything but hate you," I replied after some thought.

"That's not so," she protested. My first thought was to laugh in her face.

"Did it ever occur to you I didn't want to be in a relationship with you either? Did it occur to you that you could have been honest about this and I would have understood? Did you consider my feelings at all before you fed me into Darius' world?" I proffered up my questions.

"You wanted to date me," she rebutted. "I saw the way you looked at me on the deck last Sunday."

"Nope," I shook my head. "I thought you looked 'hot'. I never wanted to date you. Had my mind ever planned to wander that way, your attitude shut that down pretty quick."

Oh really?" she remained confident in her sex appeal. "If you behave tonight, I'll give you a blowjob when you drop me off at home. I'm really good."

"No thanks," I shrugged. "However Darius and his crowd rate your talent at fellatio is not something I consider reliable. If I want a blowjob, I'll get a pro whom I'm sure is disease-free."

"You are being such a bastard," she pouted angrily. I didn't care. "You are just jealous."

"And you are little more than three nameless orifices in a gangbang," I snorted. "If that's what floats your boat; good for you. I prefer to date a girl who doesn't need an orgy to feel erotic and desirable. My problem isn't with how you express your sexuality, Brandy."

"You deceived me and you don't regret it in the slightest. That's my problem with you."

We rode for a while in silence. Brandy couldn't let the matter rest until I acknowledged she was right...and she was the foxy babe I could never have because my melanin levels weren't high enough.

"You wouldn't have understood Darius and me," she spouted with certainty.

"Why?"

"What? Why what?" she asked.

"Why would you assume I wouldn't understand you wanting to date the star running back?" I explained.

"He's Black," she stated.

"So? I don't care about Black and White. Hell, I have cousins who are Native Alaskans - that's Indians to you people," I responded. "The few people of color I did know before coming here were my neighbors and nice people."

"Liar," she smirked. "White men always get upset when strong, Black men take their women."

"You are not my woman, so there was never anything to take. Until you and Darius decided to fuck with me and my brothers, we didn't care," I answered.

"We are not your limp-wristed rich boys, or your rednecks. You both exhibited a painful level of prejudice so here we are."

"Well...you can watch the party but you can't come down," she tried a different angle. "Darius may send you on a beer-run later."

"That ain't going to happen," I chortled.

"You had better do what he says," she threatened. I gave another amused snort. I drove us to the bottom of the parking lot near the lakeshore. Brandy got out, tried to give me a salacious look. I yawned. There were two other pseudo-boyfriends on the scene and a passel of empty cars most likely belonging to the football crowd.

I had taken into account that my family's resistance and Dad's actions had earned me some serious retribution in their minds. That was all part of our strategy. I cut off my headlights then backed my car toward the road. I waited for ten seconds then Alexander appeared at the passenger door of the Mustang.

"Hey Vlad," he teased me. "How are things going on your 'date'?"

"As expected," I chuckled. I put on the emergency brake and popped the trunk. Five minutes later, Alexander had taken Mom's car and split. I was in a dark maroon ski-mask, the same colored hoody and exercise pants (I already had on Black shoes and socks), night vision goggles and video camera with a really excellent audio system that would allow me to negate things like cricket noises.

Dark red and maroon were better than black, or grey, in hiding at night. I was virtually invisible in the darkness. After checking the wireless hook-up, I found my pre-scouted spot to watch and record the festivities. Thirty-two Black football players, ten Black girls and seventeen White girls filled the stage.

First came the drinking and pawing. Then came the rough-housing and the screams of the few White girls who were only now realizing they weren't on a 'date' in the classic sense. Then came the orgy. For the Black athletes who didn't bring dates, it didn't matter.

Every White girl had three holes - take your pick. Beers, whisky, Red Bulls and Viagra where the diet of choice. The last pleas for mercy were smothered so that only the moaning, groaning and the slapping of hands on flesh and flesh on flesh remained.

After an hour, two of the White chicks were fucked up emotionally and mentally. Their obvious distress didn't elicited concern from anyone else in that crowd. They had been turned into BBCock-slaves. The football players gleefully took pictures of their victims and partners in various sex acts.

Even for the girls who didn't want to participate, this was a license to shame. After the latest rounds of ejaculations, Darius gathered up some of his niggers and sent them to the parking lot...to find me already departed (my car not being there). The two other White boys hadn't a clue where I had gone.

That was their misfortune. They were dragged back down to the lake for Darius to interrogate. Their so-called girlfriends taunted them and added to their degradation. Since BBC's are never homosexually-inclined ... the team decided to ass-rape those two saps (yeah - right). Did I pity them?

A little, but barring retardation, what did they expect the likely outcome of events to be? Now those two could bask in their home-erotic fantasies while convincing themselves they weren't really gay. Darius and crew didn't view White people as human beings - Whites were subhuman, so the Blacks could do anything to them because sub-humans didn't deserve respect, or have rights.

I filmed it all and I wasn't alone in my voyeurism. Undoubtedly, this was blackmail for Darius to use in the future. He also decided to up his game in dealing with me. A Black Deputy Sheriff showed up and began calling my name and looking for me, shining his flashlight around.

He was pretending to be helpful, encouraging me to come out, so he could take me home. For fifteen minutes I switched my attention between his futile and false efforts and the (non-)rapes going on at the lakeshore camping grounds.

The Deputy eventually made his way down to Darius's area. The two chatted a bit, deciding I really had abandoned Brandy, then the cop partook in some of the party favors, ending his sexcapade with Brandy swallowing his load. He even declared it was partial vengeance against Big Bob (the niggahs laughed) and my Dad (since Brandy was theoretically my date).

The festivities died down after the second run at an orgy yet Darius was unsatisfied. First came the throwing of all the ladies into the cool lake waters despite their pleading screams. Then they tossed the two devastated White boys in. After some splashing around and some serious begging and pleading through chattering teeth, they let them out of the water so they could dry off on whatever was handy.

The wasted girlfriends of the two boys poured their false dates into their cars and drove away to the chorus of slights and general mockery. Darius had Brandy give me a call (actually Alexander) and requested I (he) come pick her up. I (he) said he would be there in forty-five (lie).

Darius' trap was simple but effective. He and four of his linemen would be waiting in a sedan parked at the far, upper-hand corner of the parking lot out of sight. Brandy would wait down on one of the bench-tables in the camping ground for me to arrive. Whether I honked my horn, or got out for her, Darius's team planned to roll down on me, block my car and deliver some well-deserved and overly-delayed vengeance.

Once again, Darius was behind in the game. We knew his resources and mindset - he believed he could get away with anything, he would always win and he could intimidate anyone he chose to. From my perspective, Alexander hadn't walked the nearly ten miles from school to get here. I secured my gear, put on my helmet, uncovered my motorcycle and rolled it quietly over to Brandy.

"Here," I surprised her as I stepped out of the darkness to hand her a motorcycle helmet. "Put this on."

"Vlad," she squeaked. "I thought you had left me." She was also fiddling with her phone.

"If you make that call, I'll leave you here," I threatened.

"Leave me here and my Daddy will make you pay," she countered.

"Brandy, try to think for once," I taunted her. "If I didn't leave, what have I been doing all night?" I let that thought sit there, but she wasn't approaching understanding. "I filmed this entire party from start to finish. I'm not the one in serious trouble."

Her fingers hesitantly stopped playing with the phone. I pushed the helmet her way again. She set her phone aside to put it on, allowing me to snatch it up. She hadn't called Darius yet. I pocketed the device then cut it off once she could no longer see it.

"Hey, give me that back," Brandy insisted.

"You didn't call Darius so I'm not going to toss it into the lake," I informed her.

"I'll return it to you when I drop you off," I added. That seemed to mollify her - that and the belief I'd be running into Darius soon. No such luck for her. Mom had spent some of her youth around this place and there were several hiking/biking tracks that also led out of the park the lake was situated in.

I lied to Brandy, telling her I had to pick up one more thing. That allowed me to push my motorbike far enough away to put a copse of bushes between me and Darius.

"Get on," I told her as I mounted and started the engine. She hesitated so I started rolling away. I let her jump on and off we went. Brandy held on tight.

Some of her death grip was from the dangerous route I was taking to exit this place. I knew part of it was also the combination of fears that she'd disappointed Darius and I would tell - show - her dad what had happened tonight. I was counting on Option A. I wouldn't tell Big Bob the truth until it suited us Samsonovs. What Brandy suffered for her numerous lies wasn't my concern.

"Here we are," I told her when I stopped in her driveway. She got off, clearly sore and worn out from her duties as a sperm trough. She gave me the helmet back then held out her hand.

"Oh yeah - phone," I nodded. I hurled it across her yard. "You can find it in the morning. After all, I would hate to run across any of your friends on the way home."

"Bastard," she snarled. I could see the clever spark in her eyes. "I still owe you a blowjob. You held up your end of the bargain." She would have succeeded in looking incredibly sexy except she'd already leaked fluids and semen from her over-used holes all over the back of my seat and I had the vivid memories of all the guys who had already made her swallow a gallon of cum.

"No thanks," I shook my head. "One of us needs to keep their self-respect and it sure isn't going to be you. Night-night," and off I went. My call woke up Big Bob. I let him know I'd dropped off his daughter on his doorstep. I didn't want her to find her phone quite yet. 'Us' triplets had already scouted out an overgrown old timber trail I could use to skirt the Sheriff's speed trap and the blind turn in the road the Kingston cops always used.

By my estimation, as I walked up my back steps, Darius was just figuring out I'd missed my forty-five minute arrival time and had called Brandy...and received no response because her phone was turned off in a darkened yard. He'd go looking around the camp site on the off chance her phone battery had run out of juice. No Brandy. As planned, I called Mom telling her I was home safe and Darius was probably hideously pissed at the moment.

She told me she'd be home in a few minutes. She had a few things she needed to clean up first. It wasn't until later Mom clued us into her part of the plan. Darius' older brother had been a drug conduit in the county and Brandy's dad put him away for seven years. That was why Darius was going after Brandy in such a bad way.

Worse for Big Bob, his wife (a taller, more lush, mature model of Brandy) ran off with a Black Senior Sheriff's Deputy - the man Dad replaced. Apparently he'd been porking the old lady behind Bob's back then been caught joking about it. Brandy had been dating Darius and Big Bob had her break it off - so they were sneaking around behind his back as well.

If underhanded was how Darius wanted to play it, so be it. The damage had already been dealt by his older brother. Mom got in touch with Uncle Theo. Uncle Theo knew all kinds of disreputable people and not just drug cartel members, mercenaries, arms dealers and other assorted killers. He also knew information brokers.

It didn't take too much money, or effort, on Theo's part, to let the DEA know that Darius' Mom was involved in her elder son's illegal enterprise. First, she went through Darius' parent's trash finding containers that could be used to house cocaine that had his mom and dad's fingerprints all over them.